All Right, Where's House?
by Radon65
Summary: House isn't in clinic duty. Big surprise. But then where is he? Is he merely hiding out somewhere in the hospital, or... Final update of an old, old story. Original team.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I wasn't going to bother with this, but everybody else says it so here: This is my first fan fiction. The first chapter is rather short, but they will get longer. I haven't got it all worked out yet so the updates may be reasonably fast for a while and then slacken off terribly. Reviews are appreciated of course - don't insult me, but if you have a constructive criticism I will gladly take it. I would also like to give special thanks to my beta, **podge17**. I hope you enjoy the story. (Oh, and I don't own the show - obviously.)

* * *

Chapter 1

"All right, where's House?" Cuddy demanded. Cameron looked at her cell phone in annoyance.

"I don't know," Cameron answered in complete honesty. "He left for clinic duty almost an hour ago. Isn't he there yet?"

"No, and the patients are backing up." Cuddy sighed. "See if you can find him. He's probably hiding in some dark corner of the hospital playing his gameboy."

"Okay, talk to you later." Cameron closed her cell phone and looked at Foreman and Chase. "House isn't in clinic duty," she informed them.

"So what else is new?" Foreman asked.

"Cuddy wants us to look for him." They stared at her. "C'mon guys. I'm not doing this alone."

"Okay, fine." Foreman stood up. "I'll go look downstairs."

"Wilson might know where he is," Chase suggested. "I'll go talk to him."

"All right, page if you find him. See you guys later." They took off in three different directions.

Cameron wandered through the floor, looking around and asking various people if they'd seen House. As she passed the bathroom, she reflected that it might have been better if she had brought one of the others with her. She hesitated a moment, then walked on resolutely. No. If they didn't find House, she could make Chase and Foreman check the bathrooms later.

She passed three more bathrooms and arrived at the maternity ward. Well, at least it used to be the maternity ward. It was supposed to be getting renovated, but the construction workers had screwed up the dates and wouldn't be able to get to it for another couple of weeks. Cuddy might have been less receptive to this mistake if the crew hadn't promised to knock off some of the price. And anyway everything in the ward had already been moved to temporary arrangements and there was no point in moving it back. So the ward was empty.

Cameron smiled. It might be just the place for House to be hiding. She walked down the hall, turned the corner, and froze in her tracks.

House's cane lay alone and untouched on the floor of the deserted corridor.

* * *

Do you like it? 


	2. Chapter 2

The update is a bit later than I'd expected - sorry. There were a few thing I still had to tweak on this chapter. I hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter 2

"House?"

Cameron walked quickly to the end of the hall and turned the next corner. There was no sign of him.

Cameron bit her lip and walked faster, turning the next corner. When she did, she wasn't sure if she should be relieved or terrified.

House was sitting on the floor, with his legs stretched out and his back leaning against the wall. His temples and lips were cut and bleeding and bruises were beginning to darken on his face, especially over his left eye. His bottle of Vicodin was in his left hand and his right gently massaged his leg. His eyes were closed, but at the sound of Cameron's shoes on the tile floor, he opened them and gave her a guarded look.

"Hi," he said off-handedly. She stared at him in surprise.

"Could you get my cane? I'm having a little problem getting up." Cameron hurried to get it and deposited it in House's hands. He placed his left hand on the wall and carefully levered himself up.

"I… can I … do you need help?" Cameron stammered, as House slowly started to walk down the corridor.

"Why didn't you page?"

House held up his pager. The screen was smashed and wires stuck out of the broken plastic at crazy angles. "My pager wouldn't work."

"Oh." Cameron frowned. "Where's your cell phone?"

"On my desk."

"What happened?"

"An old friend of mine stopped by for a visit," House said shortly. She waited for him to elaborate, but he paused and leaned against the wall, temporarily closing his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked. She text-messaged Chase and Foreman, telling them to meet her outside the maternity ward.

"Yeah. It's just that this didn't exactly do me any good." House started walking again, using the wall for support. When they finally came out of the ward, Chase and Foreman were standing nearby, talking. They turned as Cameron and House emerged out in the hall.

"Whoa," Chase said. "What happened to you?"

"Old friend of mine stopped by for a visit," House said again.

"And we're supposed to understand that?" Foreman asked slowly.

"Nope."

House stepped out into the more open hallway, abandoning the wall he had been using for support. He cursed as he faltered, then grabbed the first thing his flailing hand touched – Chase's shoulder.

"What the hell?" Chase was momentarily surprised.

"Relax," House said. "Just let me borrow your shoulder for a minute." House shifted his weight onto his left side via his employee's shoulder and turned towards the nearest stock room.

"Okay, where are we going?" Chase asked. House looked at him and raised one eyebrow.

"We're going down to Cuddy's office to see if she'll believe that I'm Frankenstein's monster," he growled. "Where do you think I'm going?" House started for the room and Chase stepped alongside him.

"Sorry. Unlike you, I don't posess telepathic powers." Chase paused as House stopped and tightened his grip on his supporter's shoulder, breathing slightly harder.

"House, you okay?"

"Yeah." House started forward again. Cameron opened the door to the stock room and House went in, releasing his hold on Chase in favor of a chair near the door. Cameron went to the shelves and found a bottle of antiseptic.

"Here," she said, placing the bottle on the table and turning back to the shelf. "Hey," Cameron said in exasperation. "What happened to the gauze?"

"Oh. I think they were taking inventory in here this morning," Chase said, moving to help Cameron look. "Some of the stuff's still out of place." Foreman went to the shelves to help.

"Just a sec, House."

House waited, but his colleagues didn't seem to be making any progress on the search. After a moment, he stood up and edged his way to the table where the bottle of antiseptic was sitting. He picked up the bottle and started taking off the lid. Suddenly, the bottle fell from his grasp. It rolled off of the table and shattered on the floor. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman turned from their shelve-hunting. House's hands reached forward and grabbed the table edges desperately.

"House?" Foreman asked. "Are you okay?"

House leaned forward over the table and started coughing up blood.

* * *

When the fit was over, House leaned against the table weakly. He wiped his mouth and inspected the streak of blood on the back of his hand. His eyes were watering from the effort of coughing and he could feel the others watching him, concern written all over their faces.

"Dammit…" he muttered.

"House." Foreman was starting forward when House's eyes widened. His grip on the table tightened and his body jerked convulsively as he started coughing again. Chase and Foreman moved toward him and grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep him somewhat still. Cameron was already calling for assistance and a gurney.

"He is definitely gonna need a transfusion," Foreman said.

"_A_ transfusion?" Chase looked in disbelief at the amount of blood House was coughing up. "I'll be surprised if we have any blood left by the time he's finished! From the looks of things I'd say he's got at least two broken ribs. Who exactly is this old friend of his?"

* * *

Right, please leave your comments. I hope that wasn't disappointing to those of you who imagined House being missing for weeks on end. And don't worry, there's quite a bit more! 


	3. Chapter 3

Hello out there! This update is late, as usual. I'm a procrastinator and a perfectionist, which is a bad combination for this sort of work. I think I'm going to stop giving you poor people update estimations, because I always end up updating later than I expect. Anyway, I'm done with my excuses. Here's the third chapter. I hope you like it.

* * *

Chapter 3

House swallowed in an attempt to cool the burning in his throat. It didn't work very well. He cautiously opened one eye and glanced around his hospital room. Wilson was leaning back in a chair reading a magazine. "So, am I cured?" House asked. Wilson started. He set the magazine down and leaned forward with a worried expression.

"Oh good, you're awake. You scared the hell out of me, House. How do you feel? Do you feel okay?"

"Absolutely. I feel great. How are you?" Wilson rolled his eyes and turned his head sideways in exasperation.

"How do you feel, House?"

"Well let's see, my ribs hurt and my throat hurts, but I should hope that would fairly obvious – even to someone who doesn't specialize in diagnostics." Wilson pulled his chair a little closer.

"You've got two broken ribs. And pretty badly broken, I might add. Basically every time you moved, they tore up your insides like a windmill. Didn't you… notice?"

"Admitting that you have broken ribs in front of Cameron is like inviting an untrained puppy into your refrigerator," House stated. "I knew they were broken, didn't think it was that bad. I figured I'd find you later and get them taped up."

"Because I'm all-purpose like that."

"Yeah."

"You're an idiot."

"Thank you."

"So, Cuddy mad that I wasn't in clinic duty?" House continued.

"She was, until she found out that the reason you weren't there was that you were busy getting beat up in the hall." Wilson leaned forward slightly on his chair. "So, uh, who is this friend of yours?" House sighed and rolled his eyes.

"The guy's name is Crandzkye –"

Wilson started. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Crandzkye… you mean _Mike_ Crandzkye?"

House looked minorly surprised. "Yeah. How do you know him?"

"I went to college with the guy. He used to drive me nuts. At least when you steal my lunch you don't grab my collar." Wilson tugged at his collar absent-mindedly. "How do you know him? And why on earth would he come all the way out here just to beat you up!?"

"Before I came here, I worked at another hospital for about 6 months, remember? Well, Crandzkye worked there, too. One day I found out that he was performing unecessary operations and making a lot of money off of it. He'd also been driving me nuts" – House paused significantly – "so I turned him in."

"I see. And I take it he was mad."

"Yeah. Just a little. They sent him up the river for a few years. Apparently he just got out last week and decided to thank me for sending him to such a lovely resort."

"Well, I think he needs more vacation time," Wilson said.

"Terrific. I'll have another reprieve until he gets out and comes to beat me up again."

* * *

Wilson was getting seriously annoyed. He and Cuddy were sitting in House's room with Dectective Calends, discussing the action of the police concerning Crandzyke. Wilson didn't think that Calends was at all helping. 

"So you're not going to do anything about this?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"Dr. Wilson, we've already been over this," Calends told him. "Some investigation is in order, of course, but seeing as there's no proof of who assaulted Dr. House, we can't just issue a warrant for the whole state. These things can be complicated."

"You have motive and timing coenciding with Dr. Crandzyke's release from prison," Cuddy stated. "That's not enough for you?"

"Owing to its pre-renovation state, there were no security cameras in the ward. We also haven't been able to come up with any credible witnesses who've seen Dr. Crandzkye except Dr. House. It's his word against Dr. Crandzkye's. We need something more concrete to go on to conduct a full-blown investigation."

"Concrete?" House demanded. "What do you want, his driver's license?" Dectective Calends smiled.

"Well, that would be a start."

Cuddy placed her palm on her forehead and leaned on it in exasperation. "One of my doctors was assaulted in our hospital, and you're worried about whether or not you have enough evidence to go looking for the guy?"

"It's not a question of looking," Calends explained, "It's a question of proof – of which we have none. We probably will find Dr. Crandzyke, but don't expect much to come of it."

"But then what –" Wilson began heatedly.

"Wilson," Cuddy cut in suddenly, "He's right."

"What? You were just –"

"I know, but he…he's right." Cuddy looked at Wilson sadly and waved her hand in a beaten gesture. "I've seen legal arrangements, and…he's right. I don't like it any more than you do, but –" Cuddy gave a sigh. "We don't really have any proof. Let's just hope Dr. Crandzkye's done beating up my staff and that we'll find some proof later." She looked at Dectective Calends as if she wished he wasn't there and shook his hand. "Thanks for your time."

"No problem." Calends seemed pleased that things were finally going in his favor – he'd been arguing with these people for 20 minutes. He adjusted the papers in the folder for House's case and left the room.

"We really don't have any proof," Cuddy said to Wilson gently.

"Yeah, I know. You're right." Wilson placed his hands over his face and massaged his forehead.

"You guys should chill out," House said. "I'm the one who got hammered."

"Oh, shut up, House," Wilson said irritably.

* * *

So, there it is. Not so much angst here and I'm not completely satisfied with the characterization, but that's the way it goes. As you can see, I came up with Crandzkye (yes, I know that's a weird name - it's what came into my head and I couldn't really change it, you know how that is?), so House's old friend is nobody you know. Please leave your comments. Oh, and Happy Easter! 


	4. Chapter 4

All right, here's the fourth chapter. Like all the rest, I hope you like it.

* * *

Chapter 4

Wilson tossed his bag into the passenger's side of his car and settled himself into the driver's seat. He jammed his key into the ignition. Two weeks, he reflected as the engine roared into life. Two lousy weeks and the police had seen nothing of Crandzkye. Two lousy weeks. Oh, House was back to normal at work now with the tapes freshly off his ribs, snapping insults at his team and avoiding clinic hours. If anything, Wilson thought, as he maneuvered his car out of his driveway and onto the highway, House seemed relieved that Crandzkye had finished with his little revenge and left.

Wilson gritted his teeth as he avoided collision with a red pick-up. Did the guy actually have a license? The pick-up swung off to the right and turned into a neighborhood. Two lousy weeks. Wilson checked his watch and passed a blue Dodge. He was on time, getting close to the hospital - House was probably just getting ready to leave for work. Wilson was waiting at a red light when his pager beeped. Wilson groped for it with his right hand while keeping an eye on the light. He looked at the screen.

It was a page from House.

A page.

Just a page.

That was it - no indication of where House was or what he wanted.

Just a page.

Wilson sent House a page back - _What do you want?_' No answer. Wilson frowned. The light changed and Wilson shifted gears and sent the car forward. Wilson looked at his pager again and sighed. He was five minutes away from work - it would take him at least 20 minutes to get back to House's place. But a worried feeling had inched its way into his stomach. Wilson turned his car around and headed back toward House.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe the pager had gotten bumped by accident or maybe House was just playing games with him. Wilson sent House another page. The tiny screen blinked back at him - _No Receiver_. Wilson kept one hand on the steering wheel and pushed the button again. _No Receiver_. Wilson shook his head; that didn't make any sense.

* * *

Wilson had reached House's place and he pulled up outside. The neighborhood was quiet - most people had already left for work. Wilson walked up to House's door and knocked. He stood for a moment, watching his breathe make clouds in the air. House didn't come. Finally, Wilson opened the door and went in. 

He felt his stomach twist at the wreckage. House's coffee table was overturned, the rug was upset, books were everywhere. House wasn't usually this messy even on the worst occasions.

"House!" Wilson practically shouted. He ran forward and skidded on the floor as he saw his friend lying behind the couch in a crumpled heap. "House!" Wilson dropped to his knees beside his friend and started checking his vitals. House coughed. Blood spattered Wilson's shirt. House made a noise halfway between a sigh and a chuckle.

"Wow, I just can't get enough of that lately," House said dryly.

"House, don't talk," Wilson told him. Wilson grabbed his friend's wrist and timed it with his watch. His pulse was weak, his BP was too low. There was blood on House's shirt and his pulse and cough had confirmed Wilson's suspicions - he had to be bleeding internally. Wilson gently reached out to feel House's ribs. House coughed and chuckled again.

"It's worse this time," he whispered, as if he was telling Wilson a secret. "You're not gonna be happy."

"House, shut up." Wilson winced and swallowed hard as House's injuries came to light. The newly knit ribs had been broken again, and Wilson probing fingers found a third one.

"Oh, dammit, House."

Wilson felt sick. His best friend was being destroyed by someone Wilson hadn't even seen since college. He pulled out his cell phone and forced his nervous fingers to punch in the right numbers.

"Dr. Cuddy, PPTH, how may I help you?"

"Cuddy, it's Wilson. I'm at House's place. Send me an ambulance."

"Wilson, what -"

"Just send me one!" Wilson slammed the phone shut and turned back to House. "Where do you keep your scissors?"

"Good technique," House said approvingly. "If you don't tell Cuddy what's going on, she's worry like crazy. The ambulance'll probably get here five minutes faster."

"Just tell me where you keep your scissors."

"I like this shirt."

"Look House, either I cut the shirt off, or the paramedics cut the shirt off when they get here. Will you just tell me where you keep your damn scissors?"

"Fine. They're in the third drawer on the left of the sink. You owe me a new shirt." Wilson ignored House's second comment and grabbed the scissors from the kitchen. He carefully lifted the bottom of House's shirt and started cutting it away. Wilson drew a sharp intake of breath as he lifted the shirt off House's stomach, revealing awful bruising. House sighed as Wilson tossed his bloodied shirt aside. As the shirt fell away, something clinked under Wilson's fingers. He picked up it up, understanding now why his second page had come back.

"Cuddy is going to so hit the roof," House said. "I've been going through too many pagers lately." Wilson looked at his friend again and pulled out his penlight. House winced and grabbed at the light as Wilson shone it his eyes.

"Get that thing out here," he growled in annoyance. "What the hell are you trying to do, blind me?"

"No, I'm trying to see your pupil reaction. Let go of the flashlight!" Wilson managed to wrest his flashlight from House's hands. "Now just hold still." Wilson flashed the light over his friend's eyes again. House set his teeth and tried not to blink at the glare. Wilson's eyebrows furrowed as he placed the light back into his pocket. House's pupils were sluggish - he had a concussion. Wilson looked around. Crandzkye must have hit House against a wall or something. Maybe the coffee table?

"Bad news, House," Wilson said in a joking tone. "I've just seen through your pupils and you don't have a brain." House gave Wilson a vague impression of a glare at this remark, then smiled suddenly as if remembering something.

"Here." House opened his right hand over Wilson's and dropped a small pile of soft black hairs into it. Wilson looked at them in confusion.

"I grabbed them," House explained. Wilson gave his friend a blank look. House looked back at Wilson in annoyance. "Haven't you ever heard of DNA testing?" House asked.

"What?"

"They're for proof, you idiot. It's not his word against mine anymore." Wilson stared at the hairs in his hand, finally comprehending their meaning. "Maybe you should leave a few on the floor," House said, his breathing coming a little harder. "That way they'll be at the scene of the crime - cops and juries like that. I might have dropped some on the floor, anyway..." House's voiced trailed off as he faded into unconsciousness. Wilson put the hairs in his pocket and sighed with relief as he heard the ambulance coming.

* * *

Okay, there you go. Please leave your comments.  



	5. Chapter 5

Here's the fifth chapter. Be happy.

* * *

Chapter 5

House groaned as a light stabbed directly into his eyes.

"I've already done that," he heard Wilson's voice say from far away. "He's concussed. Just help me keep him stable." The stabbing light went away, but there were lights everywhere. They flashed madly as if they were purposely trying to annoy him. His eyes flickered open to see Wilson standing next to him, looking decidely red. Something finally clicked and House realized that he must be in the ambulance. He muttered something unintelligible even to himself, and Wilson looked at him encouragingly. "It's okay House," he said. "We're going to get to the hospital. You'll be fine."

"I don't like this guy's O-2 stats," one the ambulance attendants said. "Hand me a mask, Joe." Joe handed him an oxygen mask and Wilson watched as he placed on House's face. House reached up and yanked it off.

"Hey," the first attendant said. Wilson moved toward his friend.

"House, what are you –" House leaned over the side of the stretcher and hacked blood all over Wilson's shoes. Wilson looked down at his feet sadly.

"I told you I couldn't get enough of that lately," House rasped. "I hope those weren't new." Wilson felt the warm blood seeping through his socks and shivered.

* * *

"I wish House would hurry up and get here," Foreman said as he stared at the whiteboard in front of him. 

"Knowing House, he won't be in for at least another half hour," Chase replied. "What if it's an infection?"

"From what?" Cameron asked. "The guy's a germ freak. He barely even goes outside."

"Everybody's got to have something lurking around their house," Chase answered. "Could be dust, mold…"

"He cleans the place all the time," Foreman said.

"Which is why he might be more susceptible to stuff," Chase pointed out. "He probably doesn't even have an immune system if he never lets germs get near him."

"Fine. We'll run some bloodwork when House gets here," Foreman said. "You might be right."

"We should also test him for –" Cameron paused as her cell phone rang. She picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Cameron, it's me, Wilson."

"Oh, hi," Cameron said. "Do you know where House is? Is he here yet?" Wilson swallowed.

"Yeah, he's here." Cameron thought he sounded a little odd.

"Is he with you?" Cameron asked. "Tell him to come up here, we need some help on a case."

"He can't help you."

"What do you mean he can't help us?" Foreman and Chase looked at her curiously.

"He's unconscious."

"What!?" Foreman and Chase looked at her even more curiously.

"Okay, we'll be down in a minute." Cameron hung up and turned to her colleagues.

* * *

The team hurried through the doors to the surgical wing and stopped short at the sight of Wilson standing there. His hands were smeared with blood, his shirt and pants were flecked with blood, and his shoes were soaked, producing a small pool of blood in which Wilson was standing. 

"Oh my god," Cameron said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Wilson said bitterly. "These are House's leftovers."

"You smell interesting," Foreman said. "Maybe you should take a shower."

"Not yet," Wilson told him. "I have some dramatic manipulation to perform first."

"What?"

* * *

Detective Calends was sitting at his desk, looking over case paperwork, when he heard arguing outside his office. The door flew open and the guy that he'd argued with over the House case, what was it, Dr… Wilson? Yeah, that was it, ran into his office. Calends stared at him nervously. It wasn't everyday that an angry guy with blood all over his clothes ran into your office. Wilson went up to Calends and threw a small pile of black hair on his desk. 

"Can I help you?" Calends asked.

"Here's your proof," Wilson practically snarled. "House got it again – now you find this guy."

"Umm…"

"Haven't you ever heard of DNA testing?"

"I know what they're for," Calends said as he picked the hairs up. He wished that Wilson would leave – he was making a mess with his shoes.

"Good." It seemed that Calends wish had been granted. Wilson turned on his heel and stormed out. They probably still had a slide left over from the Crandzkye case a few years back. Calends hoped that the testing wouldn't take too long.

* * *

One of the receptionists at the PPTH looked up to see a man standing in front of her station. He might have been in his early forties, but his image of youth seemed undiminished. His shock of jet black hair showed no signs of graying, and he was so tall that he might have dwarfed even the infamous Dr. House. He looked lithe and tough, and she wondered briefly if he lifted weights. 

"Can I help you, sir?" The man turned to look at her.

"Yes, please," he answered. "I was trying to see if I could find anyone who could tell me about the condition of Dr. Gregory House."

"Oh." The receptionist bit her lip. The news of House was all over the building – he could probably ask just about anyone and find out what kind of stiches the surgeons were using. But they weren't supposed to just hand out patient information to anyone.

"I'm sorry," she answered him. "We're not supposed to give out patient information." The man looked perplexed.

"But I'm an old friend of his," he told her. "You can't tell me how he's doing?"

"Oh," she said for the second time. "I suppose that changes things. Could you give me your name, please?"

"Walter Thompson. Can I see him?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm sorry Mr. Thompson, but Dr. House is still in surgery." Thompson looked at her with concern in his eyes.

"How's he doing?" The receptionist didn't even have to consult a folder – gossip had traveled fast.

"Well, he has three broken ribs and he's concussed. I think he lost a lot of blood. He's not doing well… but we think he'll pull through all right," the receptionist added, trying to sound optimistic.

"Thank you." He looked at her gratefully.

"He should be out of surgery in about an hour. And the anesthesia will take a few hours to wear off, but you might be able to visit him around 2 o' clock."

"That's fine. Thank you very much." Thompson turned away and walked back across the lobby. The receptionist frowned. Was he smiling?

* * *

Cameron paced fretfully around the lobby. She'd come down in the hope that distracting herself with clinic duty would sooth her nerves, but it hadn't. She changed direction and headed for the elevator. Maybe if she went back to the conference room and made some coffee… 

"Oops, sorry." Cameron apologized hastily to the tall man she'd just bumped into.

"No problem." He smiled at her, flashing rows of white teeth. Cameron watched as walked toward the glass double doors. He might have been in his early forties, but that didn't seem to have bothered his looks. Cameron smiled at the retreating black hair and wondered if he lifted weights. Then she shook her head and turned back toward the elevator, berating herself for indulging in mental flirting while House was getting his ribs set.

* * *

Cameron stepped into the conference room to find a cleaned-up Wilson talking with one of the hospital's receptionists. 

"What's up?" Cameron asked as she stepped into the room. She looked at Wilson. "You look better." She sniffed his shirt. "And you smell better." Wilson looked at her distractedly, then looked back at the receptionist.

"Tell her what you just told me," Wilson said, nodding at Cameron. The receptionist turned to Cameron timidly.

"Well, I'm not sure if it's important…"

"It's important," Wilson said. "Tell her."

"Well, I was just taking reception," she started. "And this tall guy with black hair shows up at my station." Cameron frowned.

"Maybe in his early forties?" she asked. The receptionist looked surprised.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I think I ran into him in the lobby," Cameron explained.

"Tell her what he wanted," Wilson said.

"He wanted to know about Dr. House's condition. I told him that I couldn't just give out patient information, but he said that he was an old friend of Dr. House's, Walter Thompson. So I told him that Dr. House wasn't doing all that well, and he seemed…" she looked at Cameron and Wilson nervously. "He seemed… _happy_ about it."

"And the descriptions that you two just gave me fits Crandzyke to a T," Wilson said earnestly.

"Oh my god." Cameron put a hand over her mouth and leaned against the wall. She'd never been so embarrassed in her life. She'd just been… about House's… she shoved the thought back into the dark, cobwebby areas of her mind, where people store horribly embarrassing things like that. Fortunately, Wilson mistook her embarrassment for fear and worry. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She flinched and put her hand down, willing herself not to throw up on Wilson's clean shirt.

"It'll be okay," Wilson sighed, trying to look calm.

"Yeah," Cameron answered vaguely. _Don't throw up_. "I was going to make some coffee." She shrugged off Wilson's hand and headed towards the machine. Wilson looked at the receptionist.

"I think you can go back to work," he told her. "We'll let you know if we need you." The receptionist nodded and went out the door. Wilson fished in his pocket for his phone and dialed the number for the police. Cameron took a deep breath and tried to remember how many scoops of coffee she'd just put in.

* * *

Okay, now I have about half of Chapter 6 written (which I need to finish up and send to my beta, **podge17**, whom I haven't mentioned for four chapters but is still there is still awesome), but now we're getting into the stuff that isn't already pre-written and just needs tweaking. So updates are going to be even slower - which, contrary to popular belief, is possible. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Anyway, reviews would be appreciated. 


	6. Chapter 6

Hello out there in fan fiction land! Here's the long-awaited for Chapter 6.

* * *

Chapter 6

"House?"

The voice drifted through a black fog. His head hurt; he didn't want to answer it. Come to think of it, a lot of things hurt. His head, his chest, his stomach – his leg. That was after him with a vengeance. The bed sheets were soft, though, that was one thing. They were a lot better than the floor. Or the ambulance.

"House?"

Was the voice still talking? He recognized it, didn't he? A small groan escaped his lips. He wished whoever it was would just go away so he could go back to sleep.

Then came the inevitable question – "House, can you hear me?"

"You bet I can hear you. Shut up," House growled. His words provoked a small laugh, but he was serious. He was too tired for this.

Wilson smiled as his friend's words heartened him. At least he was still making jokes. But the smile deserted him as quickly as it had come. Wilson swallowed.

"House, can you open your eyes for me?"

The question went unanswered for so long that Wilson thought House might no longer be awake. Then:

"No."

"Why not?" House's answer concerned Wilson a little.

"Because you worry about everything. Chances are, the reason you want me to open my eyes is so that you can do neuro-checks for my concussion. If you think a light in my eyes is something I want right now, you're an idiot."

Wilson rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "You know, neuro-checks do happen to be important…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. They're also annoying. You can wait a few minutes."

"Fine." Wilson set the penlight in his hand down on the bed. "How do you feel?"

House snorted in amusement. It was the second time he had heard the question from Wilson, and it was just as stupid now as it had been the last time.

"Is this a trick question?"

"No. It's a stupid one. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been beaten up by a very annoying Buick." Wilson had to smile at the description of Crandzkye.

"Yeah." There was a pause.

"Let me do the neuro-checks."

"No."

"C'mon House, this is important."

"It can wait."

"We should know." House sighed.

"Okay, fine. Make it fast."

House opened his eyes cautiously. The lighting in the room was a bit dim, most likely on purpose, but it didn't do anything to help his headache. Wilson picked up the penlight and switched it on, flashing it over his friend's eyes. He sat back with the familiar, sickly feeling of worry in his stomach. House tried to focus on his friend past the bright spots that loomed in his vision.

"Looks bad?"

"Well, none of it's any good." House blinked in an attempt to clear the twin spots. Wilson watched and gnawed at his lip, considering. After a few minutes House could see properly again and was watching Wilson through tired, but calculating eyes.

"It's something else, isn't it?"

Wilson shook his head in surprise. "What?"

"It's not just my concussion you're worried about. It's something else. I want to know what."

Wilson sighed. Why did House have to be so good at analyzing emotions? Wilson licked his dry lips and put the penlight back in his pocket, thinking about what to say.

"Come on, tell me. I don't care what it is."

Wilson took a breathe and opened his mouth. He shut it again.

"Come on!"

"Okay, okay. Crandzkye was here – at the hospital. At least I'm pretty sure he was. I didn't see him, but one of the receptionists did, and so did Cameron. From their description, I'm pretty sure it was him." Wilson watched House, but other than a grim stare House showed no emotion. Wilson went on, "He asked about your condition. I called the police and told them and they're sending a couple of guys over. They'll talk to security and see about getting you protected." Wilson sighed again and looked at House with concern in his eyes.

"Okay."

Wilson's look turned to one of disbelief.

"_Okay_? That's all you have to say?"

"What am I supposed to do? Go Cameron? Get all weepy and scared?"

"I just thought… you'd be worried…"

"Worry is an emotion triggered by the contemplation of the possibility that something bad may happen to us or those who are close to us. Some of us worry, some of us don't. Right now, you're worrying. I'm not."

"You're not concerned?"

"I'm not worrying. Concern is a different emotion, provoked by similar causes. I'd be stupid if I wasn't concerned. But there's a couple of policemen coming over, they'll chat with security… we're set." Wilson raised an eyebrow. House waved away the expression with a shake of his head. He winced as that proved to be a mistake, then suppressed the urge to rub at his forehead and continued.

"If Crandzkye wants to get me badly enough trust me, he will. But a couple of policemen and security is the best thing we've got right now. If you expected a magic carpet to come take me off to safety, one of us has been watching too many Disney movies." House blinked to keep himself awake before he spoke again.

"Where's my cane?"

Wilson was surprised by the question, though he probably shouldn't have been. "Uh… it's back at your place. I didn't think to bring it." Wilson looked at his friend with more incredulity. "You want it now? You're not going to get up." The last sentence was injected with the worry that House would do just the opposite.

"No, no, I'm not going to get up. I just want it."

Wilson found a sigh escaping his lips for the second time in his conversation with House. "Fine, I'll go get it." Wilson stood up. Maybe it was better if he left anyway – talking with House hadn't really been reassuring, and Wilson could tell that his friend probably preferred sleeping to talking right now, anyway. He wrote the results of House's neuro-checks down on the bedside chart and turned to leave. He paused on his way out the door.

"Oh, House? Cuddy's sitting outside, but I'll tell her that you probably –"

Wilson stopped himself talking when he realized that House had already fallen asleep. He had seemed pretty tired, probably mostly from blood loss. The transfusion he was getting hadn't stabilized his BP yet, but it probably would soon. Wilson gave his friend a last worried glance before he left the room.

* * *

Wilson was on his way to PPTH's parking lot when he remembered that he had left his car parked in front of House's home when he had chosen to ride in the ambulance with his friend. He pulled out his cell phone and called a taxi instead. He stood on a corner of the sidewalk and waited, running his fingers through his hair. When the taxi arrived, Wilson hopped in and gave the driver House's address. He leaned back against the seat and took in the smell of the vinyl, not sure if he felt more or less worried that he had been the last time he'd driven this direction. They'd stopped the internal bleeds and put House's ribs back where they belonged. House would be okay – as long as the healing process wasn't interrupted by a couple of well-placed fists. 

When the taxi stopped, Wilson stepped out onto the asphalt and counted out the fee for the driver. Having been paid for the trip, the taxi took off down the street. Wilson went up and opened House's door. A yellow tape blocked his way. Wilson fingered it, reading the black lettering. It was to tape the place off for police investigation. Wilson looked around for a moment, then ducked under it. He checked his watch. The police had already been and gone and it wasn't like he was going to compromise any evidence. He found House's cane lying in the kitchen under the table – apparently the police hadn't deemed it necessary to be taken as evidence. Wilson had wondered about that. He felt his hands tighten on it in an attempt to relieve his stress, and for a moment, holding House's cane seemed to give him an illusion of security. The telephone rang, startling and shattering the illusion as reality set back in. The ordinary noise seemed louder than usual. Wilson kept the hook of the cane in one hand and lifted the phone off of the receiver with the other. He swallowed and licked his lips, then gave a courteous answer to the person on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Oh, that's interesting." The voice carried with it a tendril of surprise. "I didn't expect anyone to answer. I was just going to leave a message – but I suppose this will do."

Wilson almost dropped the receiver as the sick feeling in his stomach came back full force. He recognized the voice.

"Crandzyke?"

Even greater surprise came into Crandzyke's voice, along with a note of almost pleasure. "Dr. Wilson? Really? I haven't seen you since the early years of med school. I knew that you were acquainted with Dr. House, but I hadn't expected to speak with you."

For a moment, Wilson was speechless. Then anger took over.

"You stay away from House."

The words were cold and quiet. Crandzkye chuckled.

"I mean it!" Wilson shouted. "You son of a bitch! He's my friend, you stay the hell away from him!"

"Do you actually think that that affects my decisions?"

"Stay away from him!"

There was a pause.

"Yes, well, anyway…" Crandzyke continued as if Wilson had not spoken. "Tell Dr. House that I shall be delighted to see him in a few weeks. Or however long it takes the police to get bored of following him around."

"What?"

"I said –"

"I know what you said!" Wilson snapped. "What do you mean you'll see him in a few weeks?"

"Just what I said. Do you think that I'm stupid enough to go visit him now?" Wilson swallowed at the way Crandzyke had said 'visit.' "No doubt he already has security guards outside his door, or at least alerted in the building."

"But, but… you were at the hospital earlier!" Wilson spluttered.

"Well there wasn't much risk in that," Crandzkye stated matter-of-factly. "It had been only an hour since I had last seen Dr. House – time enough for him to have gotten to the hospital, but probably not enough to have any police looking for me just yet. I merely wanted to hear a description of my handiwork."

Wilson wasn't sure what to say next. Crandzyke sounded bored.

"Well anyway, give Dr. House my message, please. Bye."

"What? No! Don't hang up! What do you want?"

"I should think that would be rather obvious."

"Well if you want revenge you've already had it. Twice. What else is there?"

"There's always more revenge. And there's control of him."

"Control?" Wilson was mildly puzzled.

"You know why I hate Dr. House, don't you?"

"He turned you in for performing unnecessary operations."

"Yes, that's most of it. But I've hated Dr. House since I first met him because he was incapable of being controlled. I had always been able to control anyone I met, until the allustrous Dr. Gregory House came along and challenged my superiority. He was my equal in every aspect of strength and will and he was one of the few people who came anywhere near close to my height. And he refused to submit to me – in anything. He defied whatever I said to him, scarcely bothered to acknowledge my will, and spat back the most interesting insults when we argued. And when I ended up in prison because of him, I hated him all the more. I swore to myself that I would get revenge one way or another. But I was troubled – Dr. House is a strong and intelligent individual. He's quite a challenge. But while I was in prison, a most fortunate incident concerning Dr. House occurred. Because now Dr. House has, shall we say, something of a weakness. Oh, rest assured, Dr. Wilson, Dr. House is no weakling. Oh no. I must confess that I have learned something about cosmetics because of him – I didn't wish to visit the hospital with bruises on my cheeks. But just the same, he does have one weakness. And once that weakness has been perpetrated, Dr. House is rather… incapacitated. So now, not only can I get revenge, but I can somewhat control what I could never control before. Do not dare to assume that this is something I will give up lightly."

_Click_.

* * *

I hope that chapter was satisfactory. I've got quite a bit of the seventh chapter written, but I make no promises. As usual, please leave me any of your comments or criticisms. 


	7. Chapter 7

At last my plan is complete! Or Chapter 7 of it, anyway. Read it and hopefully don't weep.

* * *

Chapter 7

Cuddy sat outside House's room. He'd fallen asleep when Wilson left, and since then she'd barely dared to look at him through the glass. She shifted in her chair and tried to focus on relaxing herself. After a moment, she reached down and took out her compact. She flipped open the little mirror and inspected her appearance, turning her cheeks sideways and paying special attention to the spots under her eyes. She looked all right.

She snapped the case shut, then heaved a sigh and looked back in at House. He looked a little paler than before. Was she imagining things? She stood and hesitated a moment, then smoothed back her hair and stepped inside. It was quiet in the little room, save for the beeping of the machines and House's shallow breathing. Too shallow… and uneven. His BP hadn't risen the way it should have. The blood he was receiving now seemed to barely be keeping the BP stable, and his pulse wasn't strengthening. Cuddy pushed aside the sheets and blanket and, after a moment's hesitation, moved House's hospital gown off of his stomach and chest. A dim purple stain floated beneath the surface of his skin. The stitches must be leaking – damn it! She touched the place lightly and flinched as House gave out a soft moan.

"House?"

He muttered something and began to slip back into unconsciousness.

"House!" She shoved the gown back into place and struck the side of his face gently. If she could wake him up and get him responsive, then maybe he wasn't too badly anemic.

"House, wake up."

His eyelids flickered.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Come on, House. Your stitches are leaking – I need you to wake up for me."

Cuddy reached over and pushed the nurse call button.

"House, stay with me."

His lips moved, but this time no sound came out. Cuddy snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. He flinched, and then his eyes opened for a moment, out of focus. How long had he been bleeding? A nurse appeared at the door. Cuddy turned.

"Get a gurney!" she shouted. "His stitches are leaking, who knows for how long. We need to get him back into surgery!"

Cuddy turned back to House and saw that his eyes were closed again.

"House?"

She shook him. He didn't respond. His color was beginning to worsen – apparently the blood that he was receiving wasn't enough to balance the leak anymore. Cuddy grabbed the IV line to try to pump the blood in faster. Where the hell was the gurney?

* * *

If driving himself hadn't been the only way to get his car back to the hospital, Wilson might not have trusted himself at the steering wheel and called a taxi instead. As it was, he drove back in a strange daze, doing his best to avoid any collisions. A few weeks, Wilson thought as he swerved to avoid a yellow Porsche. That would have been the wrong car to hit. Wilson had spent a lot of money on House – mostly on food – but paying for a wrecked Porsche would have been bad. 

A few weeks… House wasn't in any immediate danger, Wilson thought in a attempt to calm himself down. Crandzkey wasn't stupid enough to go into the hospital with security and the police on the alert. No, Wilson thought bitterly. No, he wasn't stupid enough to go into the hospital, where House was surrounded by people. He wait, wait until House was healed, back to normal – just like last time. Until the police wouldn't follow House around anymore, if need be. Until House was unprotected. Wilson gritted his teeth in frustration. At least House was safe now…

* * *

He was too pale, Cuddy thought as the gurney rushed down the hall. She bent her head and listened to his breathing, made shallow and irregular by the blood flooding the area around his lungs. The draining tube they'd inserted was filled with the dark red liquid, but most of it still remained seeping through House's tissues. And the fresh IV of blood being shoved into his system as fast a possible wasn't enough to keep his color from draining. Damn it!

* * *

Cameron and Foreman were standing in front of the whiteboard, arguing about the symptoms of their patient. Chase was sitting at the table, staring off into space and looking thoughtful. 

"If the tests came back negative –" Foreman was saying.

"Then we need to do more extensive tests," Cameron cut in.

"Not on what we know it isn't. We should do a biopsy to confirm –"

"A biopsy is potentially dangerous and unnecessary if the blood tests show us what it is first."

"Specific testing will take longer. A biopsy will let us know what we might be dealing with faster –"

"Maybe we could do something about it," Chase said suddenly, breaking out of his reverie and effectively interrupting Foreman for the third time in the last five minutes.

"We're trying to do something about it," Foreman said. "Maybe if you were paying attention, you could, too."

"What? No, I mean maybe we could do something about this thing with House."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But maybe we could do _something_. I mean, we can't just let our boss get beaten up by some crazy guy."

"First of all, we're not cops. Second of all, we have a patient to deal with."

"Patient's more important than House?"

"Since our patient is sick, and since House is okay right now, I'd say that the patient is at least more imperative."

"Since House is here," Cameron said, "Why don't we ask him what he thinks about the patient?"

"I said House was doing okay, not that we should go bug him," Foreman told her. "He's probably trying to get some rest."

"The patient's more imperative."

Foreman rolled his eyes and stood up. "Fine."

They stepped out of the conference room. Chase broke out of his second thoughtful trance and caught up with them in the hall.

"Seriously guys, any suggestions?"

"No!"

* * *

The team reached House's room and peered in through the glass. 

"That's weird," Foreman said. "Where the hell is he?"

"I don't know," Chase answered in an obvious tone. "Maybe we should do something about it."

Foreman glared at his co-worker.

"Guys, this could be serious," Cameron said in a tone that meant shut-up-and-stop-arguing.

At that point, Wilson came down the hall, carrying House's cane and looking quite upset. He froze when he saw that House's room was empty. He swallowed and searched the team's faces with worried eyes.

"Where is he?"

"We don't know," Cameron answered. "We just got here – we were going to ask his advice about our patient."

Wilson ran his fingers through his hair and yanked out his pager with more force than was necessary.

"When I left, Cuddy was out here. Maybe she knows where he is."

Wilson typed in a message and pushed the button to send it to Cuddy, also with more force than was necessary. When it beeped back at him, he frowned.

"Oh, god."

* * *

Cuddy paused in her frantic pacing as Wilson the team came down the hall. 

"What the hell happened?" Wilson demanded. "He seemed okay when I left, a little tired maybe, but –" He paused as a terrifying thought occurred to him. "He didn't… it wasn't…"

"No," Cuddy answered, guessing at what Wilson was trying to say. "I sat outside his room for an hour, nobody came in." She sighed and fiddled with a fold in her shirt. "He just… started bleeding. I don't know, I noticed that he looked pale and when I went into the room his BP hadn't risen. I guess his stitches started leaking."

"How bad is it?" Cameron asked.

"Oh, I don't know!" Cuddy replied, reaching a hand up to rub the back of her head and then bringing it down again in an exasperated gesture. "He was pretty badly anemic, it's not good, what else do you want to know?"

Silence pervaded the small group for a moment. Then Wilson spoke.

"I've… got some more bad news."

* * *

After Wilson's resigned narration of his phone conversation with Crandzkye, the mood in the hall had not improved. They stood again in slightly stunned silence, each of them comprehending the new information. Chase was the first break the silence. 

"We need to do something about this."

Cameron and Foreman turned to stare at him. Chase gave them a return look, shrugging his shoulders.

"What?"

* * *

Right, I hope you liked that. Leave your comments, yeah, you know the drill. But it's a little different this time. See, I imagine you guys are all sitting there wondering, "What's going to happen next?" Well guess what? _I'm_ sitting here wondering what's going to happen next! I've had a vague thought about something that won't advance the story very far and that I'm not sure what to do with anyway (if that made sense), but I really don't know what to write next. So please give me any suggestions you may have because I need help here! Think about it - review two days later with your suggestions if you have to. Send me a PM if that makes it easier. Just try to give me ideas if you have any and if you want me to keep writing because I'm stuck. Thank you! 


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, I'm finally posting the 8th chapter! It's been quite a while since my last update - over a month actually, so I'm sorry for the wait. I had some difficulties and such, but excuses are boring. I'd like to thank all of you who left suggestions for me, particularly **chaoskir**, **Boys Don't Cry, Aqua Mage**, **Wuchel1**, and **med-anomaly**. And of course, thanks to my great beta, **podge17**. I hope this pleases you.

* * *

Chapter 8

Wilson sat in the chair at House's bedside, watching his friend sleep for the second time that day. Watching the still shallow, but at least now even movements of House's chest as it rose and fell.

Cuddy had been right – the stitches had started leaking. Apparently a few of them had been tied off incorrectly. They had bled slowly for well over an hour, sending House into a state of severe anemia, which caused his tiredness, and hindering his lung function, which caused his disrupted breathing.

No one had given House's low BP much thought for the first hour – he'd lost quite a bit of blood and it was to be expected. They'd assumed, as had Wilson himself, that the whole blood he was receiving would raise it soon enough – they'd just have to wait. Until Cuddy had noticed how pale he'd looked after nearly an hour. Wilson looked over at the moniter. House's BP was finally starting to show some improvement, and his pulse was still weak, but it was better than before.

Wilson leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He sighed. Crandzkye hadn't even been around and House had been in trouble. Couldn't really blame the fact that the stitches starting leaking on him… Wilson snorted. Couldn't blame… Crandzkye was the cause of the stitches in the first place!

Wilson turned his head as the door opened and Cuddy stood in the doorway with a concerned look on her face.

"How's it going?"

"Better," Wilson answered. "He's finally starting to show some improvement."

"How long do you think it'll be before he wakes up?" Cuddy asked.

"I don't know…"

Wilson looked back at House. His face carried a tinge of its normal color. Wilson sighed again, but this time he wasn't sure if it was stress or just relief.

"Several hours anyway," Wilson continued. "He's still pretty anemic. The BP's just starting to stabilize now and his body needs the rest. Why?"

"His team's trying to solve a case and they're getting pretty worried about it. They want his help." Cuddy looked at House one more time before turning to leave. "Let me know when he's conscious."

* * *

Cameron, Chase and Foreman sat around the conference table, staring at the whiteboard and their patient's folder. Cameron flipped listlessly through the results of the blood tests and the biopsy that they'd finally gone ahead and done. 

"If the tumors are benign, then they can't be causing the symptoms," she stated.

"But maybe they're a side effect," Foreman suggested. "What conditions present with benign tumors?"

"Tselamicrosis," Chase offered.

"His white count isn't down, it's elevated," Cameron said. "That's why we thought it might be an infection in the first place."

Foreman looked at the board again. "What about Ericson's?"

"No," Chase said. "There's no sign of any hair loss."

"Well what if the tumors aren't a side effect?" Cameron suggested. "Maybe the guy just got a couple of benign tumors at the same time he got sick."

"It makes more sense for them to be connected."

"But they might not be. What else can we think of that presents the same symptoms without the tumors?"

"In that case," Chase said, "We're back where we were before we did the biopsy and we've already eliminated half of the medical conditions known to man."

"Well we've got to come up with _something_," Cameron said fretfully. She slammed the folder closed and shoved it across the table at her colleagues, then leaned forward on her elbows and sighed. "We need House's help."

* * *

Wilson had left House's room for a while to get a few things done with patients, but now he was back, sipping a coffee he'd bought and trying to calm his frazzled brain. He looked at his watch. 7:00pm. 

7:00. Wilson stared at his watch for a moment before he truly comprehended the time. He leaned against the back of the chair and took another sip of coffee. 7:00. It was hard to believe that less than 12 hours ago he'd been on his way to work, not knowing that in half an hour he'd be accompanying House to the hospital in an ambulance.

Wilson's head jerked up as House stirred.

"House?"

Wilson felt like a broken record, sitting by his friend's bedside for the second time that day, saying his name and watching him come back to consciousness. House twitched and his eyes blinked slowly as they opened. Wilson watched as House's eyes drew themselves into focus, looked around briefly, and then settled on him.

"I'm assuming there was a problem," House said. His voice kept its usual analytical edge, but it also contained a hint of a deep – but stubbornly-resisted – weariness. "Cuddy wouldn't have been trying to wake me up if there wasn't. And I would have _been able_ to wake up if there wasn't."

For a moment, Wilson felt vaguely confused at these remarks. Then he realized that House was probably about the only one who _didn't_ know what had happened – it wasn't as if he'd been conscious for it. House's tired demand broke into Wilson's thoughts.

"So what was it? Internal bleed? Stitches start leaking?"

Wilson looked at House in surprise. "How did you know?"

House rolled his eyes and flicked them at the monitors. "My pulse and BP are less than perfect. If I'd only been unconscious or asleep for a couple of hours that wouldn't be odd, but it's obviously been _several_ hours judging by the conditions of your hair and tie."

Wilson ran his fingers through his hair and tugged self-consciously at his crumpled tie. House continued.

"I was also feeling kind of tired last thing I remember – and I'm exhausted now. Which means I'm anemic, which means I've lost blood, which requires bleeding. Which also explains Cuddy's attitude the last time I saw her."

House paused for a moment in his lecture to take a deep breathe and pull himself into something resembling a sitting position. At that moment, there was a brief knock on the door and Chase poked his head in.

"Hi… can we come in?"

House regarded his employee's expression carefully.

"Does my answer actually matter?"

"No. We've got a patient we need your help on."

"Well then, come in by all means," House said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The discussion went back and forth for about half an hour. The team explained the patient's symptoms to House, what they'd already thought of, what they'd done, and the effects of their ineffective treatments.

"So now we're not sure if the tumors are connected to his condition or not," Foreman explained. "If they're benign, then they're obviously not causing the symptoms, but they could be a symptom themselves. And so far, we haven't been able to come up with a diagnosis that fits either theory."

House had managed to get himself into an actual sitting position since the arrival of his team, and from it he stared thoughtfully at the whiteboard, which had been brought into the room to help with the diagnosis. Suddenly, he smiled and spoke up.

"What if the tumors aren't tumors?"

"Okay…" Chase said slowly. "Then what are they?"

House didn't answer Chase directly. "You guys said that you thought he had an infection at first, so you gave him antibiotics."

"Yeah," Cameron answered. "But they didn't do anything."

"Wrong," House said. "They did do something. You just didn't realize it."

House looked around the room, of which every occupant was staring at him in confusion.

"When your antibiotics came into his system, they went on a little rampage through his bloodstream, ready to rid the world of infectious bacteria. But since there wasn't any, they just kept wandering along without making him any better. Until during their little world cruise, they came across the wonderful organ that we know and love as the Pancreas. Now the pancreas normally wouldn't bat an eye at this friendly intrusion, but this time it was surrounded by a increased cloud of insulin, which the antibiotics combined with and forged into little fake tumors of insulin jelly – which would have given you guys' biopsy a negative answer for malignancy. It's not our little tumor impersonators that are causing the problem here, it's what caused our little tumor impersonators. Now what would cause increased insulin production on top of everything else?"

House paused and looked around again, waiting to see if anyone would name the condition he was hinting at. When no one said anything, he told them the answer.

"Steiner's Hypoglositis. Go test his blood for increased insulin levels and start him on an IV of triglomide. If I'm right, the 'tumors' will be disappear by themselves and he'll be fine by tomorrow."

House watched with satisfaction as his team left. He lay back completely on the bed again, his meager energy supply drained by the differential. Wilson watched watched with a small amount of concern, but he had been mostly reassured by his friend's snappy temperment and the diagnosis. Then a thought struck him and his mood went into a tailspin as he remembered what he had to tell House.

"Hey, House?"

House had closed his eyes. "What?"

"There's… there's something I have to tell you."

House opened his eyes and scanned Wilson's face. He sighed and closed them again.

"Lay it on me."

* * *

House didn't open his eyes or speak throughout Wilson's entire explanation of the phone call, but Wilson knew that he was listening carefully. When Wilson had finished, House said nothing for a moment. Then he licked his lips and spoke. 

"Okay, the first thing I want you to do is to go out and get me a gun."

Wilson was startled. "A… a what?"

House flicked one eye open. "A gun. You know, just a small handgun. I think a Smith & Wesson would be perfect."

"You want a handgun?"

"Why, do you think I should get a Thompson instead? Granted, that's way cooler, but also a little hard to carry."

"No, I don't think you should get a Thompson," Wilson said in annoyance. "I mean, don't you already have a gun?"

"Yeah. But a Smith & Wesson's small and compact, easily concealable, easily carried around in a pocket – good for personal protection."

When Wilson said nothing for the next few moments, mostly because he wasn't sure what to say, House opened both eyes fully and looked at Wilson seriously.

"Look, the first time this happened, I didn't even know he was out of prison. This time, I thought he'd finished the last time. Obviously he hasn't. I need some protection. I want you to go out and buy me a Smith & Wesson."

Wilson sighed. House was right.

"Fine. What kind do you want and where you do want me to get it from?"

"Well, let's see…"

* * *

While House and Wilson were busy discussing gun possibilities, Chase was also busy. Now that House had made the diagnosis and they'd started treating the guy, Chase could finally do the something about Crandzkye that he'd been going on about. And he'd finally thought of what the something could be. 

He watched as the computer screen in front of him lit up with the word 'Google.' His fingers tapped over the keyboard as he typed the name 'Michael Crandkye' into the the long little box and pressed 'Enter.'

* * *

Okay, so as I said before I hope that pleased you. I think I've pretty much got the plot worked out to where I want it now, but I still have to get the inspiration to actually write it! So my next updates are going to be rather slow, too (cough). And I think there's going to be two more chapters. Please leave me your reviews!  



	9. Chapter 9

Hey, I finally got the ninth chapter up! The timing on this might be rather confusing, so I'd like to try and explain it. House and Wilson's time is 'the present' and Chase's time is in their past - but Chase's time progresses to become theirs and in Chapter 10 his time will be the same time as House and Wilson's. I hope that makes sense - and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 9

Detective Calends was sitting at his desk sorting through files of various cases. He sighed as he came to the House case. _What a mess_, he reflected. It was now a little over a week ago that the doctor's crazed friend had charged into his office with a pile of hair and a veneer of fresh blood on his clothes.

_What a weirdo_, Calends thought as he looked at the paper showing the results of the DNA test. The hair had indeed tested as Crandzkye's, and also a few hairs found on the floor of Dr. House's home. At least now they had pretty much undeniable proof that Michael Crandzkye was the man they needed to look for.

Calends started slightly as the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Detective Calends?" The voice on the other end of the line identified its owner as Australian.

"Yes?"

"This is Dr. Robert Chase. I'm on Dr. House's diagnostics team."

"Oh." _Great_.

"I got your phone number from Dr. Cuddy. I've been doing some research for the past week. About the Crandzkye trial several years ago?"

"Yes?"

"Well I've come across a couple of names… Apparently Dr. Crandzkye has a sister, Tina. She married a guy named Mitch Foster –"

"Yes, Dr. Chase," Calends interrupted. "We know about Mrs. Foster. In fact, we spoke to her last time there was an incident with Dr. House."

"You did?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid she doesn't know much about her brother. She was never particularly close to him and she didn't contact him much while he was in prison. She doesn't seem to know much of anything that will help us and neither does her husband."

"But surely… Will you speak with her again in light of what's happened and the new evidence?"

"Possibly, Dr. Chase. But we were quite satisified last time that Mrs. Foster could not provide any information relevant to the case."

"Would you give me her phone number? I'd like to speak with her."

"I'm afraid I can't give that out, Dr. Chase."

"Well something has to be done."

"We're doing all we can. And we're prepared to keep a squad car outside of Dr. House's home for the next couple of weeks."

"Right. But… but you find Dr. Crandzkye and you put a stop to this."

Chase hung up his phone and turned to flip his computer on again. Maybe he could find Tina Foster's phone number on his own…"

* * *

House leaned against the doorframe and patted the small bulge in his pocket that was his new Smith & Wesson. He'd decided on a 9mm satin stainless with 7rd Mags. It was a beauty of a gun, sleek and compact and fitting almost perfectly in his pocket. 

"Hurry up," he yelled at his bathroom. "We'll be late."

"In a minute," Wilson's voice answered him.

The blow dryer clicked on. House sighed, closed the door, and moved to sit on his couch. He'd left the hospital five days ago, and since then Wilson had stuck to him like glue, rarely allowing House out of his sight outside of work and even insisting that he sleep on House's couch every night. House had tried to fend him off with the argument of the gun – which Wilson conceeded was pretty good protection – but his friend still followed him everywhere.

House struck his cane against the coffee table in annoyance. "Hurry up!" he yelled again.

"Okay, I'm coming," Wilson said as he came out of the bathroom. House stood up and turned to face his friend.

"You blow-dried your hair to go to a monster truck rally?"

"Yes, I did."

"If you're planning to pick up hot babes that's my job."

"You're ribs are barely healed. That disqualifies you. Can we go now?"

"I've been waiting to go for ten minutes," House said as Wilson reopened the door. "And screwed-up ribs don't disqualify you."

"They do when your best friend is sleeping on your couch."

"Oh, well when you put it that way…"

* * *

Chase looked at the piece of paper in his hand upon which he had written the Foster's home phone number. After a lot of searching and downloading a copy of the right phone book off the internet, he'd finally fund the number for Mitch and Tina Foster. Carefully he depressed the buttons on his phone and waited hopefully for an answer. The phone picked up and the third ring. 

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Foster?"

"This is she."

"Oh, good. Um, I'm Dr. Robert Chase. I work for Dr. House – I'm assuming the police told you…"

"Oh." Her tone of voice dropped, and Chase didn't blame her.

"I'm sorry to bother you Mrs. Foster, but I was hoping to talk to you about your brother – to see if perhaps you had any idea of his whereabouts." She sighed.

"I'm terribly sorry for what happened, Dr. Chase – I really am. But that was nearly a month ago, and I've already spoken to the police. I don't know of anything that would help you."

"A month?" Chase said, nonplussed. "No, it was only –" He stopped, realizing. "Mrs. Foster, I'm afraid you haven't been informed. Dr. House was injured again."

"Oh. Oh, oh my god. I'm… I'm so sorry. I didn't know… Is… is he okay?"

"He's better now. But Mrs. Foster, your brother doesn't seem to have any intention of leaving him alone. We need to stop this. Please, if you know anything that could help, anything at all…"

"I… I don't know… Oh, Samantha no!" There was a clatter on the other end of the line, and Chase waited while Tina Foster said something to someone and then got back on the line. "Sorry, Dr. Chase. That was my daughter, Samantha. She knocked over –" There was a pause.

"Mrs. Foster?"

"I just remembered something… When Mike and I were kids, our parents took us on a road trip. I think we were going to Florida. But we stayed in Princeton one night, at this private inn or hotel. I think it was called Samantha's or Sandra's or something like that. It was the only time I've ever been in Princeton, except for the ride back – I think we stayed in the same place. It's the only other connection Mike has to Princeton that I know of."

Chase felt hope beginning to rise in spite of himself. This old hotel or whatever it was wasn't much to go on, but at least it was some new information.

"Thank you, Mrs. Foster. I'll look the place up."

"But that was over twenty years ago!" she protested. "We only spent two nights there! I don't even know if the place is still standing!"

"It's all I have to go on. If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now. Thanks again and bye." She sighed again.

"Goodbye Dr. Chase. Good luck."

"Thanks."

Chase hung up and headed towards his computer, thinking that he was certainly getting a lot of practice searching the internet lately.

* * *

When Wilson's car pulled up outside the rally stadium, it was obvious that they were indeed late. The grounds were deserted. 

"Told you," House grumbled as he stepped out of the car. "You and your stupid hair."

"Maybe if we hadn't stopped to buy licorice, we wouldn't have gotten stuck at that light," Wilson answered.

"You can't go to a monster truck rally without snacks," House said firmly. "Come on, we might still be able to get in there before anything actually starts happening."

They were halfway across the lot when Wilson's cell phone rang. Wilson picked it up and House sighed as it became apparent from the side of the conversation he could hear that Wilson was talking to someone from the hospital. "What's the problem?" House demanded.

"One of my patients wants to see me," Wilson answered, holding a hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "Is this the best time for her?" he asked the person on the phone.

"It's Saturday," House said. "Blow off."

"She has surgery tomorrow. If she needs to be reassured, I can go talk to her."

"We're at the stadium!"

"Tell her I'll be there in about fifteen minutes," Wilson said. "Okay, thanks. Bye."

House groaned as Wilson hung up. "You idiot. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Go in," Wilson said.

"I thought were all clingy lately," House answered him.

"I know. I don't really want to leave you alone…" House rolled his eyes. "But you won't be alone," Wilson continued. "I doubt anything will happen while you're surrounded by a few hundred people. And this probably won't take too long. I can be back before the rally's over. So just go ahead in."

"Fine," House said starting for the door again. "Maybe it'll be nice not to have you in my back pocket for an hour. Anyway, I've still got her." House touched his pocket where the Smith & Wesson resided.

"Okay. See you," Wilson said, looking at House again before he turned back to his car.

The look Wilson had given him had _still_ been a worried one, House thought as he paused near the doorway to watch the car pull out onto the road and drive away. He had the gun and, like Wilson had said, there were plenty of people in the stadium. Wilson didn't need to worry. House turned to go inside.

"Dr. House." A hand grabbed his sleeve and yanked him away from the doorway. House didn't need to look to see who it was. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gun before he turned around to see Crandzkye grinning at him a scant five feet away.

"Back off," House snapped.

"I see you've gotten yourself a little firearm," Crandzkye said, nodding at the Smith & Wesson without nervousness.

"Yeah," House answered. "And it's gonna fire if you don't back off."

"Oh, come now. I've already called Dr. Wilson away. Do you think I'm going to just leave?"

House stared levelly at his enemy. "You called Wilson. How'd you get his cell phone number?"

"It's on yours," Crandzkye said dismissively. When House didn't comment, he went on. "It wasn't hard to imitate a hospital employee."

"And you found out one of his patients had surgery tomorrow."

"I find out a lot of things."

"What if Wilson hadn't left?"

"Then I would have been disappointed." Crandzkye took a step forward.

"Back off," House said again. Crandzkye ignored the warning and took another step forward.

"Back off!"

At the third step, House aimed the gun and fired. Or tried to. All that issued from the barrel was a soft _click_.

"Oh dear," Crandzkye said, in a voice that didn't sound upset at all. "Did someone tamper with your little weapon?"

House stared down at the gun in his hand. He couldn't tell what was wrong with it without opening it up, but Crandzkye's tampering admittance assured him that it wouldn't fire.

"Oh, crap."

* * *

I love cliffhangers. Please leave your comments!  



	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Chase was standing outside a building that looked like someone had made out it of cardboard, drowned it in a glass of water, and then left it out in the sun for 20 years. Which was probably how long the thing had been deserted. A sign with a chunk of plastic missing out of its top right corner hung at a crazy angle, with the name _Sandy's_ printed on it in faded pink lettering. Some kid had probably hit it with a baseball. And it was probably 20 years ago.

Chase blew out his breath in a sigh. It had taken long enough to find the stupid place – searching on the internet for hotels in the area with names that started with 'S,' after trying both Samantha's and Sandra's and finding nothing. He'd finally come across something that made sense – an old, privately owned hotel that had folded years ago and nobody had ever bought the property or done anything with it. He wasn't even sure who was supposed to own the place – the deed was probably lost or forgotten or both.

The intensivist was standing at what was supposed to be the front of the building, but was now a back lot with weeds coming up through the cracks of the concrete, courtesy of the new buildings that had sprung up around the hotel. Chase made sure his car was locked and walked cautiously up to the front door. If this was the place he was looking for, he'd better watch his step.

The metal door squeaked loudly as he opened it, its rusting hinges protesting violently against the movement. Chase jumped involuntarily, half expecting the thing to come crashing down on him. He walked into the building, hoping that there wasn't anyone here, because if there was the door had just advertised his presence cheerfully. He was standing in a hall with faded green carpeting with a stairwell on his right, and he was momentarily puzzled by the fact that he wasn't in the lobby. Apparently whoever had owned the hotel had decided to put the sign up for it 15 feet to the right of the main entrance. Chase could see another set of doors further down on his left and the edge of a reception desk. He walked down the hall, reached the lobby, and stopped.

The hotel hadn't been deserted for twenty years.

* * *

Crandzkye's fist connected with House's collarbone and House gasped in pain as he was knocked off-balance. Crandzyke grabbed his shirt before he fell, pulling him back upright. House hissed at the sharp jerk and swung the cane in his left hand at his enemy. He was rewarded by Crandzkye cursing, but a moment later Crandzkye's foot connected with his right leg. House fell to the ground in agony, his head swimming and his fingers losing their hold on the gun as his hands went instinctively to the source of his pain. He felt his cane being ripped away as his other hand let go of it and his newly knit ribs protested angrily as a fist slammed into them. He couldn't be sure, he thought, as he doubled over with a new pain spreading from his left side, but one of those ribs was probably rebroken already.

* * *

Chase stared at the lobby in front of him. There was a dusty reception desk sitting in front of one of the walls – on which the paint was peeling – but he scarcely noticed such trivial details. His attention was firmly focused on the hotel's faded carpeting, upon which was a new, and hardly faded, mattress complete with sheets and pillows. Near the mattress was a refrigerator. Chase wondered briefly if there was still electrical power to be found in the hotel's decaying circuitry or if a there was a generator someplace. He was considering opening the fridge up when something else caught his eye.

There was a calendar – a new one – tacked up on one of the walls amid long curls of faded pink paint that probably hadn't looked good when it was knew. Chase skirted the mattress and looked at the calendar, noticing a starred date. He recognized the date as the second time House was admitted to the hospital. His eye traced down to a star on the date House was released. Chase flipped back to last month's calendar and found a star on the date that House was admitted to the hospital the first time and one on the date of his first release.

"It's a bloody schedule…"

Chase felt anger well up in him. He ripped the calendar off the wall and tore it half, throwing the two pieces on the floor and kicking them for good measure. But just as suddenly he was scrambling to pick the pieces back up, searching frantically for the right page. He found it and glanced hurriedly through it, his eye lighting upon what he had seen as the pieces fell, the realization having struck his brain a split second after he kicked the pieces of calendar across the floor. There was another date starred on the calendar, and Chase doubted that it had anything to do with anybody's birthday. He pulled out his cell phone and found Wilson's number on speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Wilson? Where's House?" Chase could tell that Wilson picked up on the tenseness in his voice right away.

"I just left him."

"You left him? Where?"

"At a monster truck rally. What's wrong?"

"I'm at an old hotel – I'll explain why later. Crandzkye's been staying here and I just found a calendar. Every day that House was admitted to the hospital or released has a star on it. And so does today." Wilson was silent. "I think you'd better go back to House." He heard Wilson swallow.

"I'm on my way."

"All right. I'll call the police."

* * *

Wilson was speeding. Fortunately, there weren't too many people on the road. He _had_ to get back to the rally. With any luck, House had gotten inside and would be fine and just surprised when Wilson showed back up. Without any luck... Wilson didn't want to think about it. He just had to get there. He haphazardly drove through a red light, pulling aside to avoid a brown station wagon that was driving legally. He _had_ to get back.

* * *

Chase hurriedly punched numbers into his cell phone as he ran back out to his car. As he settled into the driver's seat, Detective Calends answered his summons.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Detective Calends? This is Robert Chase again. I'm calling because –"

"Dr. Chase, seriously, we're working on this."

"Shut up!" Chase snapped. "There's a monster truck rally going on today. Dr. House is there, and I have reason to believe Dr. Crandzkye is, too. I need you to send somebody over there. You can find the place, can't you?"

"Yes, that's not a problem. But I'd like to know how you decided that Dr. Crandzkye was there before we just go speeding off. Do you have credible information?"

"Listen to me, you idiot!" Chase shouted, losing control. "My boss is liable to be a bloody mess if you don't hurry up and get there! Just do it!" There was a pause. Then Calends replied.

"Fine. We're going." There was a click as he hung up the phone. Chase sat for a moment, slightly embarrassed about his outburst. Then he started the car and pulled out of the lot.

* * *

Wilson pulled sideways into the parking lot only to have his worst fears confirmed. Former doctor of medicine Michael Crandzkye was standing at the edge of the parking lot, some several feet away from the stadium door, with the fingers of his right hand curled into a fist. And on the no doubt receiving end of that fist, standing crookedly and half-curled over his right leg, was House. Wilson slammed on his brakes and threw the car door open.

"No!"

Crandzkye looked up, pausing momentarily. Wilson leapt toward the two, not bothering to close the car door. "No! You leave him alone, you bastard!"

"Doctor Wilson." Crandzkye calmly acknowledged his presence. "What a pleasant surprise." Rage boiled in every fiber of Wilson's being. How dare he? How _dare_ he!?

"Get away from him!" Wilson swung his fist with all the force of his anger behind it, but Crandzkye ducked to one side and grabbed the oncologist's shirt, shoving him sideways with every bit as much of Wilson's anger-induced strength. Crandzkye turned and let go of House, who fell forward on the grass behind him.

"Do you want to call this 'two for the price of one,' Doctor Wilson?"

_Wilson, you idiot_. House raised his head from where he lay, looking up and squinting at the two men now a few feet away from him. Through watering eyes and a vicious pain that ripped its way from his leg up through his torso, he saw his friend dancing around like some kind of not-really-would be boxer, trying to land a blow on a guy half a foot taller than him, and failing miserably. Wilson had obviously been watching _Cinderella Man_ all too recently. For the moment, Crandzkye seemed to be content just shoving Wilson off of him in a show of superior strength and laughing about it, but it wouldn't be long before he got bored and Wilson got nailed.

"You _idiot_." House cursed under his breath. He gripped the dry grass with his right hand, pushing himself halfway up, but a spasm ran through him, jolting his diaphragm, and he fell back sideways, coughing a sticky red mess onto the ground. And then an image flashed in his mind. A glint in the grass a bare two feet away that he'd seen when he'd gotten himself up.

The gun.

It was still there, where it had fallen from his fingers when they'd answered the call from his tortured flesh. Maybe he couldn't shoot it, but he could still use it. House lifted himself up on his elbows, bracing himself for another spasm, but mercifully it held off this time. The Smith & Wesson glinted calmly at him. House pulled himself toward it with his elbows, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out against the agony that flared up his right side. He reached it, snatched it from its place, and levered himself up again, despite the desperate protests of his nerve endings.

He stood.

And he swayed.

_Crap_.

He didn't have his cane, but there was no time to get it. Crandzkye still had his back to him, and he stumbled forward, struggling to stay upright. Wilson didn't notice him at first, but then his eyes widened, his lips moving soundlessly. Crandzkye was suddenly winding up, and House could tell it wasn't for a mere shove this time.

"Hey!"

He managed to get the word out strong. Crandzkye turned, and a look of complete surprise came over him as the compact piece of metal came crashing into his face. He fell to the ground without a sound. House stood for another moment, took a few unsteady steps backwards, and collapsed in like fashion.

"House!"

Wilson leapt over the fallen enemy and knelt beside his friend - again. House looked up at him, breathing hard. "House, are you... okay?" Wilson finished, realized the pointlessness of it.

"You idiot."

House swallowed, then reached a reached a tired hand into his jacket pocket, fishing around. Wilson realized what he was doing.

"Here." Wilson reached for the bottle just as House found it, unscrewing the lid for him and tipping the pills into his friend's hand. House took them all in one gulp, squeezing his eyes shut, gripping his leg and waiting for the pain to subside. He gasped against the pain, and Wilson put a hand on his shoulder, wishing he could do more. After a short span of time, House reopened his eyes and looked at Wilson.

"You idiot." Wilson frowned.

"Why, exactly, am I an idiot? For trying to keep my best friend from being beaten up - again?" House snorted.

"For thinking you know how to fight, at all, whatsoever." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Well, excuse me for trying." House suddenly realized he'd been hearing sirens. Two police cars pulled into the parking lot and headed up to them. House looked at Wilson.

"A little late, don't you think?" Wilson looked up as the cars stopped and Detective Calends could be seen getting out, looking irritated. Wilson smiled.

"They're compliments of Chase, actually." House looked at him quizzically. "Apparently, he was conducting his own little investigation into this. He found out where Crandzkye was staying and said there was a calendar there with today's date marked off. He figured Crandzkye was looking for you, so he called me. That's why I came back." He paused as House digested this information. "Of course, my patient's probably going to kill me." House blinked in surprise, then remembered that Wilson didn't know.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Your patient didn't want a meeting. That was Crandzkye who called you." Wilson's eyes widened.

"What? Are you sure?" House nodded.

"Told me himself."

"But how did he do that? How did he get my cell phone number? How did he know my patient was due in for surgery tomorrow?" House didn't answer. He was suddenly staring off sideways, looking pensive. "House? House are you okay?" To his surprise, his concern wasn't met with weakly formed words or pained gasps, but with genuine annoyance and anger. House coughed, spitting a globule of blood out onto the sidewalk, and looked up at Wilson in utter irritation.

"How the hell should I know!?" he demanded. "I don't keep track of the man!"

"Uh, sorry..." House sighed.

"That hurt." Wilson gave a chuckle in spite of himself. "He said he got your cell number off of mine," House suddenly said with more rationality. "He probably got a look at that the first day. I don't how he knew about your patient, but he probably called up and sweet-talked somebody in Oncology." Wilson nodded, then seemed to remember something.

"Hey, what happened to the gun? Why didn't you fire?" House sighed again.

"He sabotaged it." Wilson's forehead wrinkled.

"He sabotaged your gun? How did he do that?" House shook his head.

"I don't know."

"Dr. House. Dr. Wilson." Calends was standing over them. The other police officers he was with were further back, leaning over Crandzkye. "Shall I call an ambulance?"

"Nah," House said sarcastically. "You can just let me stay here and bleed out." Calends' irritated look increased and he turned away.

"I'll be with you shortly," he threw back over his shoulder as he moved off. Behind him, the others were picking up Crandzkye and hauling him back to the police cars. Calends stopped and said something to them, then pulled out a phone. Another car pulled into the parking lot and stopped behind the police cars. It was Chase. He got up and hurried over to Calends. House watched him languidly. A thought came to him.

"Yesterday," he said abruptly.

"Huh?" Wilson looked at him in confusion. House nodded to himself.

"Yesterday, I cleaned it - the gun. I left the pieces on the windowsill to dry off for a few minutes while we watched TV. Remember?" Realization washed over Wilson's face.

"Yeah..." He frowned. "He was outside your apartment."

"Comforting thought, isn't it?" Chase had apparently finished talking with the police. He came up and knelt beside Wilson.

"Hi," he said to House. "How are you?"

"What does it look like?" Chase rolled his eyes.

"Okay, it's a stupid question."

"Yeah." House licked his lips, then looked back up at Chase. "Wilson says you're why I only have two broken ribs instead of six." He paused, then continued grudgingly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Chase's features lit in a genuine smile. "Oh, I called Cameron and told her what happened. She'll probably let Cuddy and Foreman know." House's head jerked sharply and he stared up at his employee in disbelief.

"She'll _probably_ let Cuddy and Foreman know?" Chase sighed.

"Okay, she _will_ let them know."

"She'll run around and tell everyone! She'll buy doughnuts and meet us at the ER! She'll drive me nuts!"

"She'll care."

"Still gonna drive me nuts!" House said flippantly.

"Whatever." Chase stood back up and walked over to the police again. House watched him go, then turned to Wilson.

"Help me sit up, will you? I'm tired of lying around like a train wreck." Wilson eyed him with concern.

"House are you sure you can..."

"Oh, come on! The ambulance'll be here in a few minutes. It's not that bad. What could it possibly do to me that they couldn't fix up with a couple more stitches?"

"Fine, fine. You win." Wilson reached down and helped his friend sit up, gently leaning him on back against the oncologist's parked car.

"Thanks."

House sat for a few moments, taking deep breaths and watching Chase and the police arguing over something stupid. Then his face screwed up and he coughed hard a couple of times, sending another small quantity of blood onto the pavement. House looked sharply at Wilson. Wilson rolled his eyes. "Relax. I'm not gonna make you lay back down - it'd just give the ribs more movement, anyway." House sighed.

"I'm really looking forward to that stopping." Wilson sighed, too.

"So am I." From the distance, a siren came into earshot. "Well, here comes the ambulance. Your third one."

"Third time's the charm, Wilson." A smile broke out on Wilson's face. There was House - sprawled against the car, blood soaking through his shirt, and yet with a quirky smile on his face. Making flippant remarks and probably analyzing Wilson's reactions to them. It wasn't so bad this time. House would recover - and soon. And finally things would be back to semi-normal for a change.

House watched his friend's face change and rolled his eyes. Wilson was having one of his little warm and fuzzy moments. "Done yet?" Wilson broke from his reverie and looked back at his friend.

"Huh?"

"I said, 'done yet?'" Wilson shook his head.

"Only you, House. Only you."

**The End**

* * *

I have no real excuse as to why this has taken so long - for a while it was because I wanted to tweak the chapter, and then when that didn't happen it became laziness, and then it became forgetfulness, and then finally it became embarrassment and feeling like an idiot for not updating for forever and feeling more and more embarrassed and more and more like an idiot the more time passed. Which was a lot. But I had to update once and for all. I know the amount of time that has passed is frankly ridiculous, but I refused to leave it unfinished. I apologize to my original readers, and thank you all for your reviews back when this story was going strong. And thanks to my beta for helping me out so long ago. I hope people were able to enjoy this final chapter.

Goodbye.


End file.
